Page 391 of Wicked Brutal

“She should be here when our baby comes,” I say. “It’s not fair.”

She pulls back and cups my face, and her answer is immediate, certain. “No. It is not fair.” Her thumb wipes beneath my eye. “You are allowed to want your mommy. You are always allowed to want your mommy.”

Cassandra’s hand stays on my back. Darla stays beside me. Ryan never lets go. Walter comes back into the room and quietly takes his place beside his son. Nobody moves away because Katya came in. Nobody tries to fill Mom’s place. They just make room around it.

When my breathing finally slows, I look toward the chair. “You brought it.”

“Of course I brought it.”

The pelenashka. I know every piece of it. The faded blue fabric came from one of Mom’s shirts — the soft one she wore at the lake. Bare feet, hair pulled up, a book open in her lap while Tobias chased frogs and I pretended I wasn’t watching Ryan next door. Not the ones she wore to dinners, or when Dad had people over, or when she had to dress like Roman O’Toole’s wife. Just Mom. Another piece came from the blanket that used to live on the back of our couch — the one Tobias crawled under with her, the one I wrapped myself in and cried into until I couldn’t anymore after she was gone. Months ago, Katya sat with me while I chose the pieces, and made them into this. For our baby.

“I forgot it,” I say, crying again.

“No. You had other things to think about today. So I remembered for you.” She kisses my fingers. “You never have to thank me for this.”

Another contraction begins. Ryan moves closer, Darla stands, Cassandra reaches for me, Katya keeps my hand — and this time, when the pain comes, I let every one of them help me through it.

By the time Darla tells me we’re close, I don’t believe her. I’ve lost all sense of time. The only things that exist are the people around me and the baby I’m trying so hard to bring into the world.

“Again,” Darla says gently.

“I don’t have anything left.”

“You do.” Ryan takes my face in his hands. He’s exhausted, his hair a mess from running his hands through it, his eyes red. He has never looked more beautiful to me.

“Look at me. There she is. That’s my girl.” His forehead rests against mine. “You don’t have to do the next hour. You don’t have to do the next ten minutes. Just stay here with me. Right here.”

I grip his wrists and nod. “It hurts. I’m scared.”

“I know. We’re not going there.” His eyes hold mine. “Stay with me.”

The contraction hits. I push, and the pain tears through me, and Ryan tells me I’m doing it, and Cassandra cries beside me, and Katya tells me I’m strong, and Darla tells me exactly when to breathe and when to push again, and Walter’s hand is on Ryan’s shoulder. Again. Again. Again.

“I can’t!”

Ryan’s forehead presses to mine. “You are. You’re bringing our baby here. Our baby, Ally.” His voice breaks. “Bring them here.”

I push. I scream. I think I call for Mom again.

Then everything changes. A cry fills the room — tiny, sharp, angry, perfect. My whole body goes still. Ryan stops breathing beside me.

“It’s a girl.”

A girl. I stare at Ryan, his eyes going wide. “A girl?”

The nurse smiles. “You have a daughter.”

Ryan makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before, half laugh, half sob. Then she’s on me — warm, wet, furious, tiny. My daughter.

She cries against my chest, and I press my hand to her tiny back, and my voice breaks. “Hi. Hi, baby.”

Ryan is crying openly beside me — not trying to hide it, not wiping it away, just staring at her.

I touch his face. “Ryan. We have a daughter.”

He nods, another tear falling. “We have a daughter.”

His hand covers her tiny back so carefully, like the whole world might disappear if he presses too hard.